


Give Me Your Wallet (And Your Watch)

by airebellah



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: (He's 18), Age Difference, Aged-Up Peter Parker, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Coming Untouched, Daddy Kink, Developing Relationship, First Meetings, First Time, M/M, Praise Kink, Rimming, Sugar Daddy, the accidental text au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-07-05 04:33:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15856284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: It was pushing midnight when Peter sent a text to his friend Ned asking for help with a chemistry problem.I know I'm doing something wrong but I can't figure it out,he wrote.He received a text with a picture of the solution. The elegant script should have been the first clue; the fact that it was on the back of a napkin the second. But he was tired, and failed to notice such details.You misplaced your decimal when converting degrees to Kelvin,came the reply.Rookie mistake.Gee, thanks,Peter replied with a roll of his eyes.Anything you need help with?Yeah, who the fuck am I talking to, exactly?(AKA the wrong number AU)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Dame tu billetera (y tu reloj)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16187201) by [HarmonyStarker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmonyStarker/pseuds/HarmonyStarker)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as an anon request on tumblr, and when I said I wanted to expand it, I got an amazingly overwhelming response of people asking me to do so. Thanks to everyone who encouraged me <3
> 
> Expect vague direction, little to no plot, and lots of Tony being Peter’s daddy. *wink* *wink*
> 
> Title comes from "Fair Game" by Sia

It had always been important to Peter to succeed on his own, thus he always tried to complete his homework independently. But tonight he had been stuck on the same chem question for a half hour. The tip of his pencil had been chewed to shreds, and he was rapidly losing patience. On any other night, he likely could have come up with the solution; but he had smashed his phone earlier that day on the subway, and had dropped $100 on a replacement from Kijiji. Even though he paid for it himself, May still lectured him about his apparent “lack of responsibility.”

Now it was pushing midnight, and all he wanted to do was collapse in bed. His fingers flew across the screen as he inputted Ned’s number as a new contact. His eyes struggled to stay open as he texted, _How did you solve number 5?_

He didn’t get an immediate reply, and Peter sighed and pushed off from his desk. When the new phone finally beeped, he was tugging on his pyjama pants. He paused in his stumbling dance to pull them on -- one foot still caught in the leg -- as he unlocked the screen.  Unfortunately, it was not a picture of Ned’s solution. Instead, all it said was, _What?_

“C'mon man, seriously?” Peter groaned as he trudged back to his desk, finger jabbing the screen in annoyance as he snapped a pic of the question sheet with his attempted solution. He explained in an accompanying text, _I know I'm doing something wrong but I can't figure it out._

The reply came much quicker this time, and Peter sighed with relief as the solution appeared before his eyes. The elegant script should have been the first clue. The fact that it was on the back of a napkin the second. But he was tired, and failed to notice such details.

 _You misplaced your decimal when converting degrees to Kelvin,_ Ned explained. _Rookie mistake._

 _Gee, thanks,_ Peter replied with a roll of his eyes. _Anything you need help with?_

 _Yeah, who the fuck am I talking to, exactly?_ came the heart-stopping reply. Peter's brand new (second-hand) phone slipped from his grip and tumbled to the floor. His sweaty hands fumbled to pick it back up, quickly glancing over the device for damage before checking the number he had dialled.

Damn it, he had mis-entered Ned’s number. So who was this stranger that happened to know about chemistry?

 _My name is Peter,_ he replied politely. _Thank you for your help and sorry for bothering you. Goodnight._

He decided it would make a funny anecdote in the morning; he and Ned would probably laugh over it in phys ed. Settling into bed, he turned off the ringer and placed his phone on his bedside table. But the overwhelming fatigue from before had somehow faded, and Peter found himself curiously peeking an eye open a few moments later. The indicator light was flashing.

_I'm bored out of my damn mind if you want to send me something else._

Peter chewed his lip, debating just locking the screen and going to sleep. But as he scrolled up to the picture message, he noticed the glass of amber liquid in the far corner, and a row of drinks behind a counter in the background.

 _Looks like you should be having fun,_ he typed back. He didn't know who the stranger was, just that they were obviously old enough to drink. And they had nice handwriting, he thought unhelpfully.

_Some stupid business party. How old are you?_

_18,_ Peter replied. The slight thrill of excitement he felt seemed childish, and he pressed his grin into his pillow even as he rolled his eyes at himself.

_Kid like you should have better things to do then texting a strange, old man past midnight._

_How old?_ Peter shot back without a second thought.

 _48,_ came the reply. _Old enough to be your father._

Peter’s response was risky, and he had to look away as his thumb hit the send button. _Does that mean I should call you daddy?_

_Holy fuck, kid. I just spit out my fucking drink._

Peter chuckled as he curled up on his side, cradling the phone a few inches from his face. It had been a long time since he flirted with anyone, and he was enjoying the harmless fun.

 _If you're going to talk like that, I'm going to need to see who's on the other end,_ the stranger warned.

Alright, maybe not so harmless after all. Peter chewed on the knuckle of his index finger as he considered it. He eventually decided, _You first. Plus your name._

He was soon downloading another picture attachment, this time with a face instead of a chem problem. Peter's jaw dropped as the pixels formed into a dangerously handsome man with a crooked grin. A hint of grey peppered his dark hair and beard. He held up another napkin, which simply said, _TONY._

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Peter groaned as he pressed his face into his pillow. That - _that_ was who he had been stupidly flirting with? How could he even show his babyish face to such a devastatingly attractive, _mature_ man?

His libido had absolutely no consideration for this dilemma, evidenced by his cock stiffening in interest. He felt surprisingly little guilt, staring at the screen as he slipped a hand down his pants.

 _Did I scare you off?_ came a new text, temporarily obscuring the man’s - Tony’s - dark hair. _It's the name, isn't it? I didn't pick it._

Unclenching the fist currently stroking his cock, Peter steeled himself with a deep breath before snapping a selfie. The only lighting was the brightness of his screen, which he turned up all the way. The colour of his hair disappeared into blackness, but his frizzy curls were unmistakable as they spilled across his pillow and forehead. His eyes looked dark, but his cheeks were a bright red as they drew in the focus of the phone’s light. Overall, it was grainy and a tad blurry. But maybe that would work in his favour.

Peter’s erection wilted slightly in unease as he was left waiting. He could imagine a few responses in his head, but even the flattering ones were nothing compared to what he really received. _I'll give you 10% of my company’s shares if I can hear you call me daddy, beautiful boy._

Was it possible to faint from all the blood in his body rushing en masse to his groin? Because Peter was quite sure he had never felt his cock _throb_ like that before, neither with such intensity nor utter _need._

But logically, Peter had to snort at the ridiculousness. _You're joking!_ Peter replied, even as his other hand fumbled for the secret bottle of baby oil in his nightstand.

 _About the shares or your beauty?_ Peter read as his oil-slick hand rubbed along his shaft. _Either way, I'm completely serious._

Peter wanted to believe it, desperately -- not the part about the money or whatever, the other thing. But the man had mentioned he was bored, plus he had clearly been drinking.

 _Tell me again when you're sober and maybe I'll believe you,_ he texted with his free hand.

Considering their conversation finished, Peter opened Tony’s picture once more. He bit his lip, letting himself imagine it was the man’s teeth digging into his bottom lip, that it was the man’s thick, rough hand stroking his cock in such a hurried pace.

He wondered what Tony’s voice sounded like. _Beautiful boy._ He wanted to hear those words whispered in his ear -- his jaw clenched, hand moving furiously fast at the thought. Tony would smell of expensive cologne and harsh alcohol as he kissed Peter, biting bruises into his neck, telling Peter how _beautiful_ and _pretty_ he was, what a _good boy_ \--

“Unngh,” Peter groaned as he spilled into his hand. He tried not to feel like a weird pervert, using a stranger’s selfie to jerk off. It was hard, in all honesty, to feel as guilty as he probably should in the pleasant afterglow of an orgasm.

 

Ned literally fell against Peter’s chest as the two shook with laughter the next day at school.  “Dude, you’re crazy!” he exclaimed as he read Peter’s quip about calling Tony ‘daddy.’ But he sobered up as he scrolled down to Peter’s last text. “He hasn’t replied back, huh?” he asked, patting Peter’s shoulder sympathetically.

Peter shrugged it off with a tight smile. “I mean, it was just for fun. I didn’t expect anything out of it.” Which was all true, yet he couldn't help but feel a _little_ hurt.

It wasn’t until twenty past two that he received another picture image. Tony was standing in what looked like Central Park, wearing a sweat-slicked, deliciously tight track jacket **,** and holding up a half-empty bottle of water as he squinted against the sun.  _Look. I'm outside, exercising. Drinking water, even. Definitely 100% sober. You're fucking gorgeous. Let me take you out?_

Peter tried to smother a laugh as his chem teacher glared at him. “No phones, Parker,” she warned sharply.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, regrettably pocketing the phone. He thought it over the rest of the period, and by the time school was out, he had decided.  _Yes. But I'm not interested in your company stocks._

When he reached his locker, there was a reply waiting. _How about a Lamborghini?_

Rolling his eyes, Peter responded, _How about just a date??_

He could almost picture Tony's teasing grin. _Fine. We'll settle with a date and a Rolex watch. Deal?_

Assuming the part about the watch was just a joke, Peter replied, _Deal._

  

Peter didn’t regret his date with Tony -- how could he, when the two hadn’t actually met yet? But he had made one critical error, and that was allowing him to pick the restaurant.

Peter may not know much about the man (or anything, truth be told), but Tony clearly had a flair for the dramatic, if his apparently serious offer of giving away company shares over a crappy, midnight selfie from a stranger was anything to go by. But when Tony had suggested they meet at nine, and Peter had to awkwardly reply, _It’s a school night, and I have to be home by ten,_ he was too embarrassed to contribute any further to their plans.

He didn’t recognize the name of the restaurant Tony chose, not that he was expecting to; he briefly looked through the search engine to confirm his worst fears -- it was super fancy and way out of his league -- before checking the map. At least the commute wasn’t bad; he would get there in under an hour.

His dress pants didn’t quite cover his socks, and the jacket he had on was a bit itchy. Nonetheless, May absolutely _cooed_ when he shuffled out of his room, shoulders pressed to his ears and cheeks burning.

“Look at you, all grown up! Oh, I need pictures!”

Peter groaned, grabbing his aunt’s forearm before she could flit out of the room. “May, _no.”_

“At least one!” she negotiated. “Just on my phone.”

“Fine,” Peter relented. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying to give the least strained smile possible.

“Hello to my new contact picture,” May revealed with a sly grin only _after_ she had taken the photo.

The teen sighed. At least she was pretty chill about him going on some mystery date; he wasn’t going to press his luck. May began adjusting his outfit. When she undid the top button of his shirt, he shot her a perplexed, slightly scandalized look.

“Oh, stop.” She waved his concern away. “You don’t do it up all the way to your throat if you’re not wearing a tie.”

He could see she immediately regretted saying anything in the way her arms suddenly stiffened, lips preemptively pursing.

“Do you think I should wear a tie?” Peter exclaimed, for about the ninety-eighth time that night. It had been quite the debate between them, ending only when May threatened to stuff the tie in his mouth and be done with it.

 _“No,_ baby,” she sighed. “We are not doing this again, okay? You look perfect.”

Peter took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he slowly exhaled. He nodded. “Okay.”

May walked him to the door, pulling him into a tight hug before he could slip out. “He doesn’t deserve you,” she whispered.

Peter laughed, shaking his head. “May, we don’t even _know_ him yet.”

Cupping his cheek, she vowed, “No one will ever be enough for you, baby.” He flushed as she pressed a kiss to his forehead, but when she pulled away, she was frowning.

“He did _offer_ to drive you, at least, right?” she asked slowly.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Well, he offered to get someone to drive me, like a chauffeur I guess? But I said no, just to be cautious. Right?”

His aunt nodded approvingly. “That’s my boy. And if you do accept a ride home, you’re going to text me the make, model, colour, and license plate of his car. And make sure he knows I’m expecting you.”

“Yes, May,” he promised. He was quite sure he would reject any offers of a ride home, if only to avoid explaining how protective his aunt was.

He said his goodbyes and all but ran down the hall before May could switch from motherly concern back to overprotective adoration **.**  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Visit me on tumblr for more of my Starker ficlets, to submit requests, and geek out with me over these dorks.](http://airebellah.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone to your wonderful comments <3 I'm trying very hard to keep them in character lol

By the time he arrived at the 23 St. station, his knock-off cologne had already faded. He followed his GPS religiously until he was standing before a revolving door enclosed by marble walls. _Eleven Madison Park,_ read the sign.

 _Alright,_ he thought. _Doesn’t look too outrageous._

He took a stealthy step toward the clear doors, leaning forward to peek inside before he committed to entering. _Damn it,_ he couldn’t really see anything, just an entrance and a small staircase-

“Ahem.”

Peter jumped straight into the air, clutching his chest as his heart practically tore out of his thoracic cavity. He turned around to face a blonde man in a well-tailored suit, with a dark-haired woman clinging to his arm in nothing but a skin-tight, mid-thigh black dress.

“We are intending to go inside,” the man said frostily.

“Oh, sorry.” On instinct, Peter stepped aside as his cheeks burned in embarrassment. But then he frowned, straightening before they could bowl past him. “Yeah, uh, me too.” He firmly ignored the man’s dubious look as he marched inside, trying his best to appear like he knew his way around. Which was difficult, considering he paused upon stepping through the revolving door, and looked around for the host stand.

Mr. Snobby Blonde Man strode past him without a second glance, to where a man stood ramrod straight wearing a classy black and white tux. They were immediately escorted to a table. Peter trepidatiously stepped forward to where they once stood. Looking at all the fancily dressed people sitting in the dining area made him nervous, so he turned to face the door.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Peter turned back around to see the tuxedoed man before him. The worker did not smile, but he exuded a polite confidence. “Uh, yeah, I’m meeting someone here for dinner?”

“Do you have a name?”

“Uh, Peter?” he supplied with a frown.

The man smiled thinly. “For the reservation.”

“Oh!” He smacked his forehead in embarrassment; his action startled the man, whose eyes widened as he stepped back. “Yeah, it’s probably under Tony. Stark.”

The host nodded. “I will take you straight to him,” he said before turning away.

“Wait!” Peter cried, lunging forward to grab the host’s arm. “He’s here already? But I got here early and everything!”

The man didn’t respond, save for gently prying his jacket sleeve out of Peter’s sweaty grip.

“Crap, um, before we go, can you just tell me -- is he, like nice? Do you think?”

“There are other guests,” the host said slowly. “Shall I escort you to Mr. Stark’s table, or would you like to come back?”

“Just… yeah,” Peter sighed, eyes momentarily squeezing shut as he silently readied himself. “I’ll go now.”

Peter wondered if it was possible to have an existential crisis at eighteen. As he wove between rows of immaculately dressed guests eating bite-sized portions of unrecognizable, but beautifully crafted food, he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he was even doing in a place like this. He stuck out like a sore thumb -- or worse, like a poor kid from Queens playing dress up as he tried desperately to impress a complete _stranger,_ just because the guy looked _kind of_ handsome and happened to pay him a compliment.

At least, that’s what he told himself. By then they had arrived at the table, and the host was bringing Peter around to the empty seat. Tony stood up from his seat, and how the hell had Peter ever even _tried_ to convince himself the man was only _kind of_ handsome? He was drop-dead gorgeous, all olive skin and perfect, white teeth glimmering under a devilish smirk. This time he was wearing glasses, which had no right to look so good perched atop his straight nose. And, oh God, he was reaching for Peter’s hand, his fingers were so _warm_ and Peter’s palm so sweaty and gross, then that smirk was brushing against his knuckles, and Peter may have been swooning because suddenly a chair was pressing into the back of his knees.

“Thank you, that will be all,” Tony said as he dropped Peter’s hand.

The teen nodded, barely registering the words (or the fact that they weren’t directed at him) until he heard a murmured, “Of course, sir,” as the host slipped away. And then Tony was motioning for him to sit, and the chair was directly behind him yet he somehow ended up almost missing the seat. He couldn’t draw his gaze away from Tony’s dark eyes and the way the skin around them crinkled with every smile.

“Clearly I was wrong to offer you ten percent the other night,” was the first thing Tony said to him.

“Oh,” Peter said, softly, not sure how one responded to such a thing.

But Tony didn’t let him wallow in his doubt for too long, adding, “I should just sign over my entire company right now.”

Once again, he wasn’t sure if the man was joking or not. But he burst into laughter nonetheless, thankfully feeling some of the tension leaving him as Tony quietly chuckled.

“Here, kid. Catch.”

The man reached into his breast pocket before flinging a small object across the table. Peter scrambled to catch it, making a poor imitation of a juggler before finally managing to close his fingers around the slippery wrapping paper.

“What’s this?” he asked as he inspected the box.

The man’s brow quirked as he took a sip of water. “As per our agreement,” was all he said.

Peter was left wondering what the hell that meant for all of thirty seconds before he gasped, dropping the package from his hands as if it had burned him. “I swear, if there’s a Rolex in there-”

“What, do you prefer another brand?” the man sitting across from him cut in. “Cartier, perhaps, or a Piguet?”

“I don’t even know what any of that means,” Peter confessed with a distasteful furrow of his nose.

Tony frowned, leaning forward on his elbows. “If you don’t want the watch, what’s your reward for sitting through dinner with me?”

It was Peter’s turn to frown as he asked, “Isn’t _that_ the reward?”

Tony’s eyes narrowed as he scratched at his beard. “Hmm,” he acknowledged consideringly.

“Umm.” Peter tried to rub the back of his neck out of sheer awkwardness, but the tightness of his sleeves didn’t allow it. He aborted at the last moment, his hand awkwardly waving above his shoulder before he jerked it back down at his side. “Sh-should we order, or…?”

The man’s lip dragged across his lower lip. He continued to stare at Peter, as if sizing the teen up. “You don’t order, doll.”

“Right,” Peter murmured. _Because who orders dinner at a restaurant?_

“How’s chemistry?” Tony asked. “Any pesky decimals I need to take care of?”

“Ha-ha,” Peter laughed dryly. “Anyone could have made that mistake.”

“Well,” Tony drawled as he settled back into his chair, waving a hand at himself. “Not _anyone.”_

Peter rolled his eyes. “As if you didn’t look up the equation to solve it.”

Before Tony could retort, a waiter arrived at their table holding two plates, which he set in front of them. Peter’s eyes narrowed as he took in the little dish.

“Are those flowers?” he asked, looking at the purple petals sprinkled on top of what looked like a row of sliced- “And bananas?”

Tony’s cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh, but the waiter’s delicate sniff was unmistakably disdainful **.** “White asparagus with cured egg yolks, chive and arugula flowers, and grated feta.”

Peter let out a meek, “Oh.”

“Alright, alright,” Tony snapped. “Let us eat our bananas in peace.”

Peter didn’t know his date well enough to discern if Tony was trying to lighten to mood, or aggravate Peter’s injured pride. The silence was somewhat stilted as they ate, though Peter had to admit, he never thought flowers could actually taste so good.

It was only when the waiter had cleared their empty plates that Tony slipped back into their previous conversation. “It was a simple activation energy equation,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “Is it really that hard to believe I solved it by my intelligence alone?”

The teen couldn’t help but feel emboldened by the man’s superior attitude. “Fine. If you’re so smart,” he reasoned. “Why don’t you solve something right now?”

“Oh, did you bring your homework to our date?” Tony asked with mock enthusiasm.

Peter flushed, both in pleasure at hearing Tony say it was a date (which he hadn’t doubted, but it still felt nice to hear the man say it), and in embarrassment at the reminder of his youth. “N-no,” he stammered. “But I can look something up, and you have to answer it without checking your phone. Deal?”

Tony shrugged, looking entirely too laid back. “Sure thing, kiddo.”

The nickname felt like a step back from _“our date,”_ and Peter frowned slightly as he began to stab at his phone in search of a sufficiently complex equation. He found a kinetic polymerization reaction rate that was so long, he figured he should just slide his phone across the table for Tony to read. When he looked up, he realized their second plate of food had arrived (along with a sheet of paper and a fountain pen that looked like it cost more than Peter’s phone).

It couldn’t really be called a course. It wasn’t even a snack; it was barely a morsel. Peter’s head ducked down as he tried to inspect the inside of the tiny green wrap. He could swallow it in one bite.

“What is it?” Peter asked, forgetting the chemistry question momentarily.

“Beats me, kid,” Tony said with a shrug. He picked it up (it looked even smaller in Tony’s thick, hands), tapping it toward Peter in a faux cheers before popping it into his mouth. “Now give me the question, you insolent brat,” he demanded between chews.

Peter obediently handed over his phone, after making sure the answer was not displayed below. He watched as Tony almost immediately began to write across the paper. The man scribbled away furiously, and Peter leaned across the table to watch. He glanced between Tony’s hand and the man’s eyes, which were narrowed in concentration.

“Wait!” he cried, impulsively reaching out and slapping Tony’s hand away from the paper. “Your glasses! Those are the - y’know, smart glasses!” He tried to ignore the burning of Tony’s skin against his palm, instead focusing on the man’s potential cheating.

He felt triumphant as Tony slid the glasses off his nose. Then the man was reaching across the table and pushing the frames behind Peter’s ear, pressing on the bridge until they sat perfectly atop Peter’s nose.

He was right -- they were smart glasses. But unfortunately, there was no equation dancing before his eyes.

“Well,” he said with a impertinent shrug. “Go ahead.”

Tony resumed his problem-solving, his writing no less swift now that he was without his glasses. Peter’s food sat forgotten as he leaned across the table, watching as Tony wrote out constants that Peter didn’t even fully understand.

Peter loved science. He loved chemistry. But he had never been under any illusion that they were _sexy_ subjects. Now, watching Tony’s dark brows pull together, his tongue running along his lips before they pursed in concentration, the sheer _speed_ with which his pen flew across the paper -- Peter cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as he felt his face flush.

It was _hot,_ okay?

The pen soon fell onto the table as Tony leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his chest as he grinned triumphantly. “Well?”

Peter snatched up his phone and the paper. He glanced over the solution, as though he was scrutinizing Tony’s work; in actuality, most of it was beyond his knowledge, and he simply enjoyed Tony’s flowing script. He looked at Tony’s rate constant, then clicked the link on his phone to the solution.

Not only were the answers the same, but the website Peter chose didn’t _display_ the steps to solving it. So there was no conceivable way for Tony to cheat, sans glasses.

“Wow,” he said. He wasn’t entirely sure what else to say. And then Tony was staring at him, with a too-soft smile for someone who had just proven him so wrong.

“You look good in those.”

It took Peter a moment to realize he was being teased for still wearing Tony’s smart glasses, like a total dork. “Oh, uh, sorry,” he muttered as he gingerly pulled them off and handed them across the table.

Tony’s smile only widened as he took back his glasses. It seemed almost deliberate, the way he paused, waiting until Peter had popped the weird, green, roll-thing into his mouth before saying, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Perhaps it was a kind of revenge for the first night they spoke, when Peter’s words had made Tony apparently spit out his drink; now Peter had to cover his mouth to keep from coughing out the food as he began to choke. The pet name seemed so innocent and subtle, yet Peter’s stomach fluttered in excitement.

 

They were onto the eighth dish - a morsel of chicken drizzled in a dark, checkered sauce and encircled by dots of colourful condiments - when Tony asked him about college.

“I applied to Columbia, NYU, Cornell…” he counted off on his fingers.

“All local,” Tony interrupted. “Why limit yourself?”

Peter hummed as he swiped along the multicoloured globs dotting his plate before popping his finger into his mouth. He certainly did not fail to see the way Tony’s eyes were drawn to his hollowing cheeks. “Um, I guess I didn’t really want to leave my aunt. What if she needs me, you know?”

“What a sweet boy,” Tony murmured. His lips curved into a smile as Peter’s head ducked bashfully. “Your aunt is lucky to have you.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, fingering the silky white tablecloth. “Staying -- it’s the least I can do for her.”

After the waiter cleared away the eleventh, and final dish, Tony replaced it with the gift-wrapped watch. “You really don’t want this?” he asked, sounding surprisingly bemused for someone who had solved an intricate chemistry equation by hand.

“I don’t want the watch,” Peter repeated, carefully pushing the box back to Tony’s side of the table. He smiled up at the man coyly, explaining, “I’ll happily keep you instead.”

Tony’s elbows rested on the table as the man leaned forward, resting his chin on one of his palms. “Name your price,” he said.

“What price?” Peter asked.

Tony’s free hand lifted, fingers crooking in an invitation for Peter to come closer. As he mimicked Tony’s position, the man’s fingers danced along his bicep and he whispered in Peter’s ear, “I want to hear you say it.”

Peter sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled back, staring up into Tony’s dark eyes. “I don’t have a price,” he responded slowly, watching as the man scowled, clearly uncomprehending. “I just want to get to know you.”

The gentle graze of Tony’s fingers was replaced by the man gripping his bicep, firm but gentle. “You’re going to regret it,” he promised darkly. “You should just take the money, kid.”

Stubborn as ever, Peter shook his head. “I’m not interested in your money. If I’m going to be with you, I want to _be_ with you.”

He shivered as Tony’s grip loosened once more, his fingers dragging up Peter’s arm, along his collarbone and throat, finally resting under his chin. His thumb lifted, resting atop Peter’s bottom lip and gently tugging it from between his teeth. Before Peter’s mouth could close, his thumb darted in between the teen’s teeth, the tip simply resting there. Peter struggled to swallow, his tongue brushing against the hint of skin.

His thumb dropped to rest on Peter’s chin as he pulled the teen in for a slow, savoury kiss. “Anything you want, sweet boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Visit me on tumblr for more of my Starker ficlets, to submit requests, and geek out with me over these dorks.](http://airebellah.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

“How in the hell do you have a 3.8 GPA when you’re this _dumb_ _?”_ Michelle groaned.

Peter bit back the urge to tell her it would be much closer to a perfect 4.0 if he and Ned didn’t tend to goof off in phys ed. _Just sayin’._

They lay in the grass outside on their lunch break, as Peter recounted his date from last night. “What am I supposed to do with a watch that costs, like, half a year’s rent?”  
“Uh, pawn it and pay _off_ that rent?” Michelle prompted. “You can buy yourself a gold-plated dildo for all I care!”

“Do you know how many limited-edition Millenium Falcon Lego sets we could have gotten?” Ned said.

Peter scowled as he looked over at his friend. “Why would we need more than one?”

“Why _wouldn’t_ we?” Ned countered.

“Look, guys,” Peter groaned, rolling onto his back as he plucked out handfuls of grass. “I really _like_ him, and money will just get in the way.”

“Peter, you know I like you and all,” Michelle said with a roll of her eyes. (She didn’t do well with affection, even after all these years.) “But let’s be real. A guy like that has a new boytoy every month. You should at least get something out of it before he dumps you for his next piece of ass.”

For once, she and Ned were firmly in agreement. “Yeah, I mean, giving away a seven-thousand dollar watch is probably like shaking hands to that guy. No one’s going to think any less of you.”

“What if I don’t want him to get bored and move on?” Peter asked. He hated how small he sounded, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak about a whisper. “Do you think it would help if I didn’t put out?”

His friends were quiet until Ned said an uncertain, “I don’t know, maybe?”

Michelle just scoffed. “Should I pull up his photo again, babe?” she teased. “There’s no way in _hell_ you’re to be able to resist that fine-ass piece of man. But sure, give it a try.”

 

Although he would never admit it to her face, Michelle was right; resisting Tony’s charms didn’t last very long at all.

By the third date, Peter felt comfortable enough to let Tony drive him home. Well, to let Tony’s chauffeur drive them to Peter’s home. He was both thankful for and agonized by the partition closing off the driver from their view, as Tony barely let the screen roll up before he was tugging Peter into a kiss.

They had already had their first  _real_  kiss -- tongues and everything -- on their second date; Tony had rented out an entire race track, forcing Peter to admit he had never driven before. Tony kept urging him to go faster and faster, until Peter’s heart was racing with exhilaration. He had stumbled out of the car, legs turned into jelly, and Tony had taken advantage of Peter leaning on him for support to swoop down and steal a kiss.

Peter had somehow ended up pressed against the side of the car, Tony's frame solid against his, the man's tongue licking between the boy's surprised, parted lips. But he had been too hyped up on adrenaline to stand it for long, soon begging for another ride around the track.

But now, their kiss was slow and languid, if only because Peter’s reach was hindered by his seatbelt. (He noted that Tony didn’t wear one, and resisted the urge to lecture the man on safety.) But the pace was good; after all, Peter wanted to take things slow.

 _This isn’t too fast, right?_ he silently questioned when Tony’s hand slid down his backside as his tongue slid into Peter’s mouth. _No, definitely not_ _,_ he decided, moaning at the sensation.

But he wanted to be good, he really did; so he was soon pulling away, placing his hand on Tony’s chest for good measure. “Wait, we should-”

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Tony panted, stroking a hand down Peter’s burning cheek. “Jesus Christ.”

“I-I am?” Peter stuttered.

“Don’t you know it, gorgeous?” Tony asked, leaning in to press feather-soft kisses against the teen’s cheekbone. “Take this off and come sit with me.”

Hearing the lock release on his seatbelt, Peter threw the polyester strap out of his way before scrambling across the seat. He sat beside Tony, urged by a hand under his knee to shyly swing his legs across the man’s lap.

Peter’s worries were put to ease as the two continued to kiss just as slow as before; Tony’s hand settled on his lower back, but ventured no further. And Peter fisted Tony’s satin-smooth shirt, but more so to steady himself than to drag the man desperately closer.

“I love those pretty little sounds you make,” Tony confessed as he kissed a trail from Peter’s mouth down to the patch of skin below his ear. “Keep making them for me.”

His throat no longer wished to cooperate, now that Tony had pointed it out; the sounds he made became more strangled and pitched, but Tony groaned in response, his fingers digging into Peter’s back.

“Just like that, kid, you’re doing such a good job.”

Peter was undeniably thankful his knees were bent, hiding his crotch from sight as his cock throbbed in response to Tony’s words. He leaned forward, pressing his stomach closer to his thighs; ostensibly to keep his growing erection hidden, but then he moaned at how good it felt, even just having his abdomen pressed against his cock. As Tony sucked on his neck, Peter lost himself to the sensation; he began to frot against himself, keening at the small relief.

Then Tony’s lips were releasing his skin as the man straightened, giving Peter a critical once-over. “What you got there, sweetie?” he asked.

“‘M s-sorry,” Peter stuttered, releasing Tony’s shirt to wrap his arms around his shins, pressing his thighs right against his chest.

“No, no,,” Tony assured softly. His hand, still against Peter’s back, pressed until the boy’s spine was forced to arch. He closed his eyes against the sensation, and soon Tony was guiding his hips in a circular motion.

“That’s it, you’re so good, sweetheart,” Tony urged him.

Peter almost bit his tongue at the praise and the immediate, needy ache it sent to his groin. “P-please,” he whined.

“I know, kid. You want to come for your daddy, don’t you?”

That was it - Tony’s words, coupled with him simultaneously shoving Peter’s hips forward, had the boy crying out. Tony hushed him, wrapping Peter in his arms and pressing the boy to his chest as Peter shook with oversensitivity.

“Good, good, you did so good, sweetheart,” he comforted.

Peter had barely caught his breath before Tony asked, “Is now a good time for me to meet your aunt?”

“What?” Peter yelped, practically jerking out of the man’s embrace. Mentioning his aunt was a _sure-fire_ way to ruining an orgasm.

“Well, we’ve been parked outside your apartment for the last ten minutes,” Tony informed him.

“What?” He tried to peer through the tinted glass, but it was too dark for him to see. “Um, I think, maybe - no offense, but…”

“Maybe another time, when your underwear isn’t currently soaked with come?” Tony offered, not unkindly. He sported a teasing grin, and, well, it was **_his_** fault, after all. He couldn’t be too disgusted at Peter’s overeagerness, could he?

“Uh, yeah, something like that,” the teen muttered as he untangled himself from Tony’s lap and slid over to the opposite door.

“Hey,” Tony said, grabbing Peter’s wrist and tugging him back. He smoothed down Peter’s curls and pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead. “Goodnight, kiddo.”


	4. Chapter 4

When Peter picked up his phone while getting ready for school to May yelling at him, “Peter, what the hell did you do?”, his first thought was she had somehow found out about last night. He was quite sure he had hidden his stained underwear and pants well at the bottom of his clothes bin, and always he did his own laundry -- besides, May had only left for work a few minutes ago!

Before he could even get a chance to reply, she demanded, “Get your ass downstairs  _ now!” _

The boy yanked the brush out of his half-combed hair before racing out of the apartment. The first thing he saw when he stepped out onto the street was his aunt, scolding a man dressed in a well-tailored black suit. Then, just past them, he saw a sleek grey car wrapped up in a comically big bow.

“Is that…” he trailed off as he stepped closer. He had never seen a high-end car in his neighbourhood (save for Tony’s) -- much less a shiny new  _ Audi _ _. _

It was then that he picked up on his aunt’s words.

“-Just give a car to an eighteen year-old boy, what the hell is he thinking?”

The stranger shook his head, hands raised pleadingly as he tried to explain, “Ma’am, I’m not privy to his thought processes, I was just instructed to-”

“Take it back!” May seethed.

His pocket began to vibrate. Pulling out his phone, he couldn’t help but chuckle at Tony’s impeccable timing.  _ Well? _

Peter’s head shook as he replied,  _ My aunt is going to kill you. _

His phone lit up with a call. Peter glanced over at May, still absorbed in her argument, before stepping away to answer.

“I’m more concerned about what you think,” Tony said.

“I think…” Peter scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re  _ crazy _ _ , _ and I can’t accept this.”

“Too late,” Tony said immediately. “All the paperwork is under your name, the car is already at your building -- shit, you’re probably running late for school. I guess you’ll just have to take the car.”

“So that I miss first period?” Peter countered. “Tony, you do realize it’s way faster to take the subway, right? And that I can’t drive?”

“Details,” the man muttered under his breath. “Look, I’ll help you practice. You can take it for your driver’s test.”

“Is that him?”

Peter winced as he spun around to face his aunt, who held her hand out expectantly.

“Yes, May, but I’m-”

“Give me the phone, Peter,” she said with forced calmness. “I just want to talk.”

“I promise, I  _ promise _ _ ,”  _ Peter said, holding out a hand to keep her from snatching the device from his ear. “I’m not keeping it. But you’re going to be late for work, you should really go, May.”

“I swear, Peter Benjamin Parker, if I come home to that car sitting there…”

“May, I know,” Peter groaned. “You’ll have my hide  _ and _ his.”

“Damn straight.” But thankfully, her scowl softened. She squeezed his shoulder as she bent down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I love you, baby.”

“Love you too,” Peter murmured, before turning back to his phone call. “Tony?”

“I’ve decided you may return the car,” Tony obliged reluctantly. “But I want a picture of you with it first.”

Peter pondered the offer for a moment, but he was running late for school and the terms seemed reasonable. It was a little awkward leaning against the hood to snap a pic, especially with the puzzled looks from passersby. Sending it over, he raced back upstairs to finish getting ready. Just as he was walking through the living room, he got a reply.

_ Your aunt’s lipstick is a lovely shade. _

“Huh?” Peter muttered as he ambled over to the bathroom to finish brushing his hair. It wasn’t until he looked up into the mirror that he saw the crimson, lip-shaped smear across his forehead.

“Damn it!”

 

“Pics or it didn’t happen!”

Peter rolled his eyes even as he pulled up the selfie on his phone and tossed it to his friends. He hoped they wouldn’t notice May’s kiss lingering on his skin, but unsurprisingly, their eyes were drawn to the car and not his face.

“Dude, this is awesome!” Ned said with a grin as he handed back the phone.

Peter pocketed the device as he shook his head. “I’m not keeping it, Ned.”

“Hm.” Michelle rubbed her chin as she analyzed Peter with a narrowed gaze. “I see.”

“See… what?” Peter asked. “There’s nothing to see.”

“You did it!” she proclaimed, slapping his shoulder. “You called him ‘daddy’ in bed!”

“N-no, I didn’t!” Peter cried, head whipping around wildly as he made sure no one in the hallway listening. “Really, we haven’t even…  _ been _ in bed!”

Michelle rolled her eyes as she shared a  _ look _ with Ned. “You don’t go from a Rolex to an  _ Audi _ for nothing.”

“W-well, maybe not nothing…” Peter admitted with a blush. “But definitely not  _ that _ _.” _

Before Michelle could look too triumphant, Ned turned to her with a considering frown. “Wait, isn’t he going to get 10% of Tony’s company for that?”

Peter facepalmed miserably as Michelle said, “Oh, right! So, on a scale from midnight-selfie to calling-him-daddy, what do you think he did to earn the car?”

Horrified by where that conversation could lead, Peter squeaked, “Guys!” before Ned could even reply. “Let’s, uh, get to class, okay?”

Peter stayed firmly in between his two friends as they walked down the hall to keep them from whispering about his sex life. Unfortunately, he knew it was but a temporary solution, one which would not prevent a chain of texts between the two.

“Wait, did you say you’re not keeping it?” Ned asked as they approached their AP chem class.

“Peter, we’ve been over this…” Michelle chastised.

“Look, I know you guys don’t get it,” Peter reasoned **.** “But it makes me feel weird, alright? I don’t need anything from him. I don’t  _ want _ anything. Not materially.”

 

That’s exactly what he tried to explain to Tony later that night during dinner. He was still on probation with May over the incident this morning, and decided it was best to keep their conversation to quiet texting.

_Look, kiddo, the paperwork is under your name,_ Tony explained. _All you have to do is say yes. Your aunt doesn’t even have to know; we’ll keep it stored somewhere else._

Peter glanced up from the screen as his aunt placed a sweet potato casserole on the table. Shucking off her oven mitts, she joined him at the table; but he didn’t fail to notice the way her gaze drifted, as she spooned out the first serving, to the empty seat at the head of the table. 

With May occupied serving herself, Peter’s fingers flew across his phone screen as he hid the device under the table.  _ I wouldn’t lie to my aunt, Tony. Even if I wanted to keep it. Which I don’t. _

He knew it wasn’t really fair to Tony, who had no idea where Peter and May were coming from. But it was not intended to be a punishment, the way Peter avoided his phone well into the evening; he just needed some space.

When he finally did open Tony’s text, sitting at his desk and nearly finished his microbiology assignment, he was pleasantly surprised.  _ I understand. Consider the gift returned. _

_You do?_ Peter typed back.

He snorted when Tony replied,  _ Not really.  _ The man continued, explaining,  _ Look, you’re a good kid. Better than I was at your age, at the very least. _

_It wasn’t about last night, was it?_ he asked. _I don’t want to wake up to a car every time something happens._

 _Why not?_ Tony retorted. _Alright, fine. Not a car, not a watch. I’ll figure you out. Home theatre? Surround-sound gaming system?_

_ I just want you,  _ Peter reminded him.

Tony’s next text -- _You can have me anytime, baby_ \-- was accompanied by a photo. The man was leaning back in a large leather chair, head tilted back to expose the long column of his throat as he tugged down his maroon tie.

Peter swallowed thickly. Slammed his textbook closed. That was enough studying for one night, right?

As he stripped to his boxers and dove into bed, he was reminded of their first night talking. Trading introductory selfies.  _ “You’re so good,” _ Tony had said last night. The memory of those words, of the firm hand guiding his back, sparked a flutter in his stomach. And perhaps it was the reminiscing, and nothing else, that prompted Peter to impulsively snap a pic.

_ Glad I’m not currently drinking anything,  _ Tony responded after downloading the attachment. Peter had his blanket pulled up to his shoulders; it wasn’t even that tempting **.** _ All this paperwork might have been ruined. _

He laughed, recalling Tony’s profession of spitting out his drink that first night. _That was when I asked if I should call you daddy, actually,_ Peter recalled.

_ Ah, yes. Still waiting for that, by the way. _

Groaning, Peter reached down to fist his half-hard cock. A few pumps and he was fully hard, and desperate for some lubricant. His phone was forgotten momentarily as he focused on slathering his hand with oil. The first squeeze of that slick, warm grasp had him gasping quietly.

When he next glanced at his phone, there was a string of texts from Tony.

_ Don’t say it now. I want to hear you in person. _

_ Pete, you there? _

_Are you touching yourself?_ \-- at that, Peter felt a flush of guilt coupled with a twinge of excitement.

_ It’s okay, baby. You can tell me. _

Next was another photo attachment. Once the picture downloaded, Peter’s jaw dropped as the phone slipped from his grip and landed on his chest. The hand on his cock clenched tightly as he fumbled to grab the phone with the other.

“You’re  _ kidding _ me, oh God.”

Tony’s cock was a thing of beauty.

It was thick and long and dark, with coarse hair nestled at the base. Even the precome gathered at the tip glistened like little pearls. It was something that should inspire artists and painters, have statues in Rome devoted to it.

Alright, Peter may have been half-delirious with arousal. But it deserved waxing poetics nonetheless. More importantly, it put his pale, slender, slightly crooked dick to shame.

_ Let me see you, my beautiful boy _ _ ,  _ Tony texted.  _ I’m so fucking close just thinking about you. _

Improvise, improvise, improvise, he chanted silently. “Uhh…” It was hard to focus on a believable lie while simultaneously trying to jerk himself off.  _ Shit. Just ran out of data. _

Tony replied without missing a beat.  _ Who are you with? _

_ Why, so you can buy the whole company? _ Peter teased.

There was a suspiciously long pause before Tony finally said, _No. Obviously not, that would be crazy._ Before Peter could decide whether to believe him, he had an incoming call.

“T-Tony?” he stammered in greeting.

“Fuck, kid,” the man moaned on the other end. “I thought maybe you were just teasing me. Are you fucking yourself on your fingers?”

“Uh, no?” Peter replied.  _ Shit _ _ , _ maybe he should have lied. It would have been sexier. “I, I’m just, like-”

“Stroking your little cock, sweetheart?” Tony supplied.

Peter would never have expected a slight like that to be so arousing. Yet his cock twitched in excitement as he whimpered, “Sh-shit, Tony.”

“Have you ever fingered your little asshole, Pete?” the man continued.

He decided he may as well continue with his newfound honesty. “No,” he said.

There was a beat of silence, though Peter’s ears picked up on a slight, garbled sound. “Tony?”

“Yeah, kid,” Tony replied after another moment. He was noticeably out of breath. “Just -- fuck! You almost made me come all over my Cucinelli’s.”

“What’s that?” Peter asked. Sounded like take-out.

“Nevermind,” Tony said. Then, words coming out faster and faster, he continued, “I’ll buy you some. I’ll fill your whole fucking wardrobe. Just come for me, kid. God, I wish I could see you right now.”

“Tony,” was the only sound Peter could make. “Tony.”

“That’s right, kid, say my fucking name,” Tony urged. “Promise me you’re not going to come again until I can see you for myself.”

“Tony, Tony,” Peter cut in, voice raising in desperation. “I have to -- I’m going to-”

“Be a good boy and promise me, Pete,” the man exhorted. “I know you can do it.”

He could hear the growing hoarseness in Tony’s voice, the usual suave assuredness losing way to hitching breaths and raspy need. “I-I-”

“For daddy, be a good boy for your daddy.”

“I, oh-oh.” He bit down on the inside of his cheek as his balls began to tighten. “Okay, yes, I promise, I promise, I promise!”

“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” Tony softly coaxed him as Peter gasped and writhed in his sheets, before the man cut off with a loud groan. _ “ _ _ Fuck _ _. _ I need to record all your little noises one of these days.”

Peter mumbled vaguely in response. His orgasm had left his limbs heavy as lead, and he nestled the phone between his ear and pillow as his hand became too weak to hold it any longer.

“Good thing I pay the cleaning staff well enough not to ask questions.” Tony chuckled in his ear. “‘M not gonna wake up to an Audi, am I?” Peter asked drowsily **.**

Tony snorted. “Nah, of course not, kid.”

Peter knew better than to allow the man a loophole. “Or a new video game system, or surround sound, or  _ any _ kind of gift.” He paused before adding for good measure, “Tangible or intangible.”

“What about the gift of me?” Tony asked.

Peter hummed in mock contemplation as he rolled onto his stomach, getting cozy under his scratchy blanket. He was too lazy to clean himself up; tomorrow-Peter could deal with that. “That sounds okay.”

“Just  _ ‘okay’ _ ?” Tony scoffed. “Jesus, I’ll have to step up my game.”

“Mm, yeah,” Peter agreed sleepily.

“Alright, kid. Have a goodnight.”

Peter wasn’t sure if he managed to reply anything coherent, but he decided it was nice to have Tony’s voice in his ear as he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm part way through chapter 5... should be posted around (canadian) thanksgiving :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Uni sucks, but your love and feedback keeps me going <3 thanks to everyone being so kind in the comments & on tumblr :)
> 
> Update: I totally forgot harmonystarker made an awesome moodboard for this fic, [check it out here!!!](http://harmonystarker.tumblr.com/post/178720976433/moodboard-inspired-by-this-fanfic-of-the-great)

Despite Tony’s agreement, Peter was extremely trepidatious walking out of his apartment the next morning. Thankfully, the streets were clear of luxury cars and any other extravagant ideas.

In fact the only thing he received was a phone call, though unfortunately ill-timed; he was just stepping off his bus to walk toward the Forest Hills subway station. “Good morning,” he greeted somewhat wearily. He wouldn’t put it past Tony to have some kind of grandiose announcement, despite the early hour.

“Hey, kiddo.” Tony’s voice was muffled by the sounds of whipping winds. “Just checking in before my flight leaves.”

“Flight?” Peter repeated. Worrying the surprise in his tone may come across as clingy, he tried to sound more casual as he asked, “Where to?”

“Did we not have this conversation last night?” Tony questioned. The winds had now been silenced. “Guess we got a little distracted, huh?”

Peter snorted. He could see the subway station approaching, and slowed his pace. Just a little. “I guess so. So, uh, where are you…?”

“Well, if you must know, dear,” Tony drawled. “I’ve been called away to Houston. I’ll be back before you can even miss me.”

Peter bit his tongue against saying,  _ That’s not possible _ _.  _ Instead he said, “Thanks for letting me know. But I’m-” he sighed, stopping at the top of the platform as people rushed passed him down the stairs. “I’m going to lose you.”

“What makes you say that, Pete?” Tony was quick to demand.

“Er, I’m going underground?” Peter explained, bemused by Tony’s suddenly heated tone. “My cell service is about to cut out.”

“Oh.” There was a pause, then Tony asked, “Does it do that the whole time?”

“The whole time I’m underground?” Peter asked, laughing lightly. “Uh, yeah.”

“Huh. Well, you wouldn’t have these problems if you had accepted the car.”

Peter groaned. “Tony…”

“Alright, alright,” the man chastened. “I’ll see you soon, Pete.”

 

Friday nights were reserved for sleep-overs (they had yet to find a cooler term) with Ned. They alternated houses, with this week being Ned’s turn. Peter secretly preferred nights at Ned’s house, because he didn’t have to sleep on a lumpy couch while his friend took his twin bed.

They tended to lose themselves in concentration whenever they had a new Lego set to build, which they did tonight. Ned’s AT-AT model had just come in, and they had finished building the torso by the time Peter’s bladder began to protest all the soda he had been gulping down.

“Be right back,” he said. He barely got a grunt in response as he stood, shaking out his limbs before dashing off to the washroom.

When he returned moments later, the sound of Ned’s laughter through the door had him pausing. It was the breathlessly giddy laugh Ned reserved for crushes and people he geeked over. Peter grinned to himself, wondering when Ned had gotten a new crush, when he realized he  _ recognized _ the voice on the other end.

Peter burst in the door, only to see Ned holding Peter’s phone up to show Tony -- because Peter could see the man’s _face_ _,_ apparently they were _video chatting_ \-- their partially-completed _Lego_ set.

“Ned!” Peter hissed, ducking down when the phone’s camera swung his way. “Get off,  _ now _ _!” _

Ned gaped between his friend and Tony’s increasingly concerned frown on the grainy phone screen. Then, without a word, he pressed ‘end.’

“What the hell?” Peter yelled as lunged for his phone.

“Dude, I didn’t realize it was your boyfriend until it was too late!” Ned exclaimed. “And then he was there, and saying how  _ hot _ last night was, and then he saw it was me and not you, and then we got to talking-”

“You showed him our Lego set!” Peter yelped, his voice becoming increasingly shrill. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘boyfriend’?”

“He introduced himself as your boyfriend,” Ned explained.

Before Peter could even _begin_ to digest that little tidbit, his phone began to chime. “Oh, my God,” he groaned as he sank to the floor. Holding the screen up to his friend, he begged, “What do I do, what do I do?”

“You gotta answer it!” Ned said, waved his hands encouragingly.

Peter winced, knowing his friend was right. He tried to smooth his face into an ordinary, casual smile as he greeted, “H-hey, Tony.”

“Hey there, squirt.” Tony grinned into the camera with a half-lidded gaze. His head was resting against a pile of silky, navy-blue pillows and, judging by the peek of broad, muscular shoulders, he wasn’t wearing a shirt.  “I was kind of hoping for a repeat of last night.”

“Um, Ned’s kind of -- I’m at Ned’s,” Peter stuttered to explain.

Tony chuckled; the sound was scratchy and deep, and Peter’s stomach twisted. “I know, kiddo, don’t worry. You having fun with your friend?”

“Yeah, uh, totally.” He glanced over at Ned, who wasn’t even under the pretense of giving them privacy; he was openly gawking at Peter’s phone screen.

“I didn’t get a good look at that thing you guys are building.”

Peter tried to hide his wince, all too aware of Tony’s eyes watching him. “Oh, uh, you really don’t have to…” he trailed off, not even sure of how to complete that sentence.

“What’s it supposed to be?”

“It’s just from some movie, um,  _ Star Wars _ _ ,” _ he revealed shyly. “Um, y’know that part where they’re on the snow planet with the walky-thingies--”

“You mean the AT-ATs in  _ Empire Strikes Back _ _?” _ Tony filled.

He heard Ned whisper, “Yes!”, and saw him punching the air triumphantly out of the corner of his eye. Turning back to Tony, he asked in surprise, “You know?”

Tony snorted. “Are you kidding me? I saw it in theatres. Now, listen kid…” Tony ran a hand through his hair, which only encouraged the messy strands to stick up even more. “I get back tomorrow night and it’s been too long since I last saw you, baby boy.”

“Oh, good, yeah,” Peter said. “We can do something.”

“Tomorrow night?” Ned cut in. He continued, despite Peter’s desperate waving out of the camera’s range to  _ stop talking _ , “Your aunt’s still going to be at that publishing conference out of town-”

“Dude!” Peter finally exclaimed.

He heard a chuckle from his phone. “Out of town, huh?” Tony said, now stroking his goatee thoughtfully. “Are you going to invite me over, Mr. Parker?”

Something about Tony’s teasing, faux-respectful title had Peter flushing. “Uh, well,” he stammered. “Y-yeah, you could… come over. If you want.”

“Of course I want, Petey. Now I’m going to let you go. It was nice talking to you, sweetheart. You too, Ned.”

Peter murmured a vague salutation in return before his finger jabbed at the ‘end’ button. “Ned, what were you thinking?” he cried, once the video call had ended. “You know I’m trying to take things slow!”

“I didn’t mean it like  _ that _ _ , _ I swear!” Ned exclaimed. “I just meant you could stay out past curfew.”

Peter groaned, sinking his face into his palms miserably. “He’s going to want to  _ do it _ _.” _

“But if you don’t want to,” Ned reasoned gently, “You can always say no.”

“Yeah, I know,” Peter sighed. “But  _ I  _ want to, too!”

“So… I’m not seeing the problem here,” Ned replied. “It’s not your first time.”

“But I’ve only had sex with, like… teens! People my age! He’s so old, and  _ experienced… _ Oh, my God.” Peter gasped, his eyes widening in panic. “Should I shave? Is he gonna expect that?”

Ned frowned, head tilting in contemplation. “Maybe you should wax?”

“D-down  _ there _ _?”  _ Peter stammered. “That sounds painful!”

“You’re right,” Ned agreed with a sage nod. “Maybe just stick to shaving.”

“So you think I should?”

“Dude, I don’t know!” Ned threw his hands up as Peter groaned miserably. “I don’t know what kind of…  _ things _ you’re into!”

“Wha- I’m not into anything weird!” Peter cried. “Wait, do you think _he’s_ into weird stuff?”

“Of course he is!” Ned said, because the teen had no concept of de-escalating Peter’s panic.

But eventually, they came to a few decisions. Peter would shave (in the privacy of his own home, of course),  _ waxing _ would be decidedly unnecessary, and if turned out Tony was into anything odd -- well, Peter could just say yes or no, depending on whether he liked it as well.

The hard part would be taming his anxiety for the twenty-odd hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are actual saps, it's so nauseating (in the best way)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your patience waiting for this update! It's honestly so appreciated. I hope this doesn't disappoint ;)

When Peter woke up late the next morning, comfortably lounging in Ned’s parents’ guest room, he opened his phone to the second most terrifying sentence Peter could have seen from his aunt. (The first most terrifying would have been, “I set up hidden cameras everywhere, including your bedroom.”)

She apologized for missing Peter’s marching band at Midtown’s game today.

It wasn’t life-ending or anything, for his aunt to miss a single performance. But Peter had completely forgotten about the game, in his blinding panic over the accidental invitation for Tony to come over tonight. He had assumed, once he got home, that he would have the day to clean (and hide all his embarrassing toys and knick-knacks, of which there were many).

Instead he found himself rushing out of Ned’s house, into Queens to grab his uniform (by then, his phone is blowing up from aggravated teammates), and over to school. He wished, not for the first time, there was a faster way to commute than buses and subways.

 

Peter was lightly panting by the time the closing ceremony was finished. The uniform was heavy and tight, especially the ridiculous hat with its broad strap tucked under his chin. He wiped a hand across his brow as he leaned against the row of lockers, tiredly spinning his combination lock. He could hear the vibrations of his phone through the thin metal, and as soon as the little door swung open, his thudding heart came to a sudden halt.

He had two missed calls from Tony and a single text. _Landed in New York._

The nerves from before were back with a vengeance, and he silently cursed Midtown’s rugby team for not just calling it a night at half-time so Peter could rush home and get his apartment ready for his older, richer, classier boyfriend.

Of course, it was just as he returned the man’s call, trudging toward the exit in defeat, that a rowdy group of his peers raced through the empty hall cheering.

“You’re at a party?” Tony asked as soon as he picked up.

“No,” Peter sighed. “The game just ended. Rugby.”

“You don’t exactly strike me as the rugby type,” Tony said with a slight chuckle.

Snorting, Peter shook his head. “I’m actually part of the -” Peter cut himself off with a silent curse. He should have just laughed it off, said his friends had asked him to come. But then he would have felt guilty for lying, and in all likelihood would have ended up breaking down and confessing the truth sooner rather than later. And, as he had this silent dilemma, he realized he had been quiet for too long. Mostly due to Tony’s impatient throat-clearing.

“Uh, I’m in the… marching band,” he confessed with a slight wince.

Tony didn’t burst into laughter, but Peter couldn’t tell if that was a good thing. “You mean with those, ah…” There was a pause, and, _oh,_ now Peter could hear the muffled chuckles. “Little Nutcracker-looking uniforms?”

Groaning, Peter petulantly admitted, “Maybe.”

Now the laughter was dangerously approaching raucous levels. “Can I get a picture of this?”

“No!”

“Pick any tech company, I’ll get you a brand new, exclusive, pre-released model. Of whatever you want,” the man bargained.

“Tony…”

This time it was Tony groaning. “Oh, right. No gifts.”

Peter chewed his lip. He could see the sign denoting the underground station approaching. “Just you,” he whispered.

“How about just me and some take-out for tonight?”

And, well. Peter could hardly say no to that.

 

It was impossible to be enrolled in as many AP classes, and have as many extracurriculars as Peter did, without acquiring some time management skills. So by the time he arrived home, he already had a game plan. He tugged off his uniform and shoved it, along with the miscellaneous clothes strewn around his room, into his laundry hamper. Next he stripped his sheets, not only because they were dirty, but because the black material was dotted with little BB8s. He grabbed some fresh navy blue, _mature_ ones from the closet -- which were probably May’s, considering how he had to tuck about half the material underneath his twin-sized mattress, but no one had to know. The pillowcase was thankfully solid black; he simply flipped it over, telling himself it was like brand new that way.

His desk was more of a lost cause. He (very gently) shoved his comic books, DVDs, and textbooks underneath the table. His partially-programmed _Lego_ robot remained, because -- that was kind of cool, right? And he did not dare move the 1984 Macintosh he had had to partially rebuild from scavenged scraps.

Next he hopped into the shower, grabbing his barely-touched razor from underneath the sink. As it turned out, it was very _awkward,_ lathering himself in May’s floral-scented shaving cream as he stood under the warm spray of water. The front was… not too bad. At least he could actually _see_ what he was doing, though no matter how gently and slowly he swiped the blade, he was left hissing at multiple nicks. It was the next part _(further back)_ that was the real struggle. He had one leg propped up on the tub, limbs contorted as he blindly reached back for the sake of being as _thorough_ as possible.

It was the least attractive he had ever felt. He would definitely have to look up some YouTube tutorials, or an eHow article, or _something_ in the future.

After stepping out of the shower, he slathered himself in lotion. He had been obeying Tony’s (frankly bizarre) demand that Peter not masturbate, so even the cool glide of lotion on his now-smooth groin was enough to make his dick twitch in mild interest. He almost welcomed the sudden stinging burns as the scented cream seeped into the numerous invisible cuts, distracting his momentary arousal.

It was as he scrunched his soaking hair with fistfuls of towel that his phone vibrated against the off-white laminate counter. The only thought crossing his mind as he lunged for the device was a breathless, _Not ready, not ready, I’m not ready --_

Tony had stopped to pick up the food, then was heading right over.

While undeniably relieved that Tony was not here already, Peter was nevertheless consumed with the blinding panic that he would be here _soon,_ and Peter was still naked.

“Clothes,” he muttered to himself, tossing the sopping towel onto the floor before skidding over to his room. Clothes would be good. It took longer than he would like to admit before finding a pair of boxers without any holes, but he found a really nice pair, deep red in colour, lodged way at the back of his drawer. He couldn’t be sure how casual he should dress tonight -- it was technically a date, but they were just going to eat take-out in his living room. And other than their first time meeting, Tony liked to dress semi-informally, usually pairing a graphic tee with a sharp blazer. But then again, even Tony’s most casual T-shirt was many times more expensive than Peter’s costliest dress shirt.

He rifled through his drawer, wishing not for the first time that he bothered to fold his clothes instead of jamming them inside. It was the cold drops of water sprinkling his shoulders and neck, from his still-soaking hair, that drove him to finally tug on a plain old shirt. He thought, at the very least, that Tony might find it amusing -- it said _May the force be with you,_ but the word “force” was replaced by the equation for it.

 _God,_ was he lucky he even had someone.

His hair was only half-dry by the time Tony arrived. His curls still stuck up wildly, and he might have missed the message altogether over the sound of the blow dryer, but it was like all his senses were hyper-attuned to the gentle vibrations in his pocket.

 _Come get me, kid,_ the text beckoned.

With a resigned sigh, Peter shut off the blow dryer and set it back down on the counter. He leaned in toward the mirror, ruffling his hands through his curls in a half-hearted attempt to tame them. Acknowledging it as a lost cause, he threw on some sneakers and headed out the door. His nerves seemed to melt away as he raced down the stairs two at a time, somehow managing to only stumble a few times.

He could feel how ridiculously wide his grin was the moment his eyes landed on Tony, casually leaning against the entranceway, two ginormous bags packed with take-out boxes at his feet. Peter waved as he bolted over (then immediately cringed at himself, because Tony looked so effortless and cool, licking his lips as he pulled off his black Ray-Ban’s, meanwhile Peter had _waved_ like some over-excited puppy).

“Hey, Tony,” he greeted as he pulled open the door, unable to wipe the dopey smile off his face even as he attempted a cool, unaffected tone. Instead of stepping into the foyer as Peter expected, Tony grabbed the teen’s wrist and tugged him into the entranceway.

“God, I missed you,” was the only explanation he got as he was pushed up against the glass door.

 _Maybe he should go out of town more often_ _,_ Peter thought dazedly, _If this is the welcome I get._ One hand cupping his jaw upward, the other pulling his hips flush against Tony’s thighs, tongue sliding into his open mouth.

“Missed you, too,” he murmured between panted breaths as Tony pressed open-mouthed kisses to his cheek, across his jaw, and down his throat. _“_ _Oh_ _,_ a-a lot.” The sound he made when the man’s blunt teeth nipped at his carotid was definitely not a _whimper_ _,_ but it was far more high-pitched than his self-esteem would have liked.

Tony swore, his other hand dropping to grip Peter’s hips, effectively stilling the canting movements Peter was only vaguely aware of making. “You’ll be the death of me,” Tony sighed, his wet kisses replaced with the press of his bristly beard.

With an incredulous shake of his head, Peter looked up at the cracked plaster ceiling above them. Tony’s nose skimmed up and down his neck and the teen instinctively jerked back, chuckling at the ticklish sensation. “Are - are you _smelling_ me?” he questioned.

Tony hummed, unabashedly pressing his face into the crook of Peter’s neck and taking a deep breath. “I’m old and rich,” he mumbled against the boy’s skin. “I’m allowed to be a bit eccentric.”

The teen burst into laughter, jokingly pushing against Tony’s chest as the man pulled at Peter’s shirt to nip at his collarbone. He was absolutely breathless, stomach cramping and head banging against the glass door with every gasp, when a very loud throat-clearing had him almost jumping out of his skin. This time he actually did apply pressure as he pushed Tony away, though he immediately wished he could pull the man back, so Peter could bury his face in his chest, as he recognized the woman standing before him.

“H-Hi, Mrs. Flores,” he greeted sheepishly. She lived a few doors down from them, and there was about a ninety-nine point nine-nine percent chance she would tell May all about seeing her nephew being felt up by an older man in semi-public. “Oh, sorry!” he gasped, jumping away from the door as she continued to stare at him unblinkingly. Gesturing to her grocery bags, he politely (and in no way bribingly) offered, “Um, can I help you with those?”

All he received was a terse, “No,” as his neighbour shouldered into the building. He turned, with wide, despairing eyes, to see Tony beaming with smug satisfaction. “Crap,” the boy bemoaned, dropping his face into his hands. “She’s going to tell my aunt.”

“Hate to break this to you, kid.” Tony mock-sighed, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. “But your aunt already knows about us.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t need to hear about… _y’know_ _.”_ His voice dropped to a whisper as he gestured between them.

“‘Y’know’?” Tony echoed with a teasingly cocked brow. “Look, you want me to go and buy her silence?”

Resigned to his fate, Peter merely shook his head. “Not everyone can be bought.”

Tony rolled his eyes, like the fully grown forty-eight year old Peter was rapidly falling for. “Yeah, kid, so I’m learning.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm quite shame-faced that this is only chapter 7, and that y'all have been waiting so long for a painfully short chapter. But thank you eternally for your patience, and to everyone who comments and leaves kudos, because they never fail to bring a smile to my face on rough days. I've been dealing with a lot IRL, on top of the usual uni/work/etc. The semester is almost done, though, so the next one should come ~mid-April.

Peter chewed his lip as Tony silently took in the apartment. Well, not silently; he had dropped the two bags bulging with take-out boxes on the dining table, before spinning around and taking a self-guided tour inside the (tiny) living room. He hummed a lilting tune as he walked around, picking up and gently replacing a few photo frames, running a finger along May’s collection of books, taking a whiff of the fake, decorative plant in the corner. 

“Nice place you got here, Pete.” Thankfully he was looking out the window as he spoke, missing Peter’s shoulders slumping in relief. When he turned back around, he wore a teasing grin. “Maybe you can give me a private tour later.”

“Ah, well…” the teen trailed off, gesturing at the joined kitchen and dining room. “This is kind of it.”

“Perhaps a tour of the  _ bedrooms?” _ Tony clarified with a wink. Stepping off from the window, he stroked his beard as he surveyed the room. He already looked as if he owned the room, gaze calculating how best the furniture could serve his needs. “Does your aunt usually have you eat meals at the dining table?” 

At Peter’s nod, Tony shrugged. “Well, she’s not here tonight. Bring the food over here, Pete,” he said as he settled into the couch. “We’ll throw on a movie.”

“I’ll go get the plates and stuff,” Peter offered, after setting the bags of food on the coffee table. “Want something to drink?”

He was halfway to the kitchen when Tony said, “Yeah, kid, I’ll take a scotch on the rocks if your aunt has any.”

Peter’s eyes widened as he stopped in his tracks, spinning around to face the man. “Uh…” Chewing the inside of his cheek, he nervously rubbed at the back of his neck. “I was thinking, like, a Coke?”

Tony chuckled, but Peter could not decide whether he should feel relieved or not. “Yeah, a Coke sounds great.”

Stacking two large plates, Peter dumped a handful of cutlery and a few pop cans on top. He tried to ignore the grating clatter of the silverware clanging against the ceramic as his hands shook. “Uh, full disclosure!” he announced as he wedged a small space between stacked boxes of mouth-watering take-out in order to drop the plates. “It’s not actually Coke? May isn’t a big fan of artificial stuff, so this is all I could find.”

Tony picked up a can, carefully inspecting the  _ Cool Cola _ label with a critically narrowed eye and growing smirk. Peter had found them sitting way at the back of the fridge, a forgotten remnant of the last time he hosted a sleepover with Ned. “I’m sure it’s fine, kid.” Depositing the drink back on the table, he ruffled a hand through Peter’s hair.

The teen blushed and ducked his head away, shying away from the attention drawn to his unruly hair. It wasn’t until Tony encouraged him to  _ “dig in” _ that Peter registered the unnecessarily overwhelming amount of  _ food _ piled onto his table. There wasn’t even enough room for every box, so Tony had only popped open the topmost layers.

“This, this is like…” Peter gaped, surely very  _ unattractively, _ at the food. “Too much.” He grimaced as soon as the words flew out of his mouth, grabbing onto Tony’s arm as he reached for a plate. “Not that I’m ungrateful! Really, thank you, but -- we can’t eat all of this!”

With a casual shrug and a pat to the hand now tightly gripping his wrist, Tony said, “Look, kid, whatever we don’t eat, you keep. No big deal. Besides, I wasn’t sure what you liked.”

Peter wondered for a brief moment, as he slowly pried his fingers from Tony’s flesh, whether the man was plagued, even just a sliver, by the same anxiety that dogged every one of Peter’s thoughts and steps. Whether he had stood in the restaurant, perusing a menu and, realizing he had no idea what the teen might want, had panic-ordered everything on the menu. But then he remembered the chauffeur who drove them around most dates. The Rolex watch at their first dinner. He had probably ordered - no, had someone  _ else _ order - a ton of food off the menu, not because he thought Peter might somehow be picky when it comes to Chinese take-out, but because it was  _ easier. _

“Kid?”

Peter was torn from his thoughts with a graceless,  _ “Huh?”, _ only to realize Tony held a spoonful of deep-golden noodles sauteed with chopped vegetables. “Want some chow mein?”

“Oh, yeah. Smells great.” Peter blushed a little as he held out his plate, like some hungry child waiting to be served. “Thank you.” Tony piled Peter’s plate high with what must have been more than half the box, before scraping the remainder onto his own plate.

“You say that a lot,” Tony observed before repeating the same actions with a box of lemon chicken.

“Does it… bother you?” Peter asked, frowning at the growing disparity between their portion sizes. He hated, sometimes, how unequal and unsure he felt in their relationship; like he was constantly treading water, but no matter how hard he kicked his feet, his head was barely above the surface.

But then Tony would smile at him, like the smile he was receiving now: small, but so full of warmth; no smirk or all-knowing glint in his eyes. Just open, and bare, like there was no disparity between them after all. “No, Peter,” he murmured. Peter fingers shook against the fork in his grasp as Tony’s hand slowly enveloped his, giving a gentle squeeze. “There is nothing about you that could ever bother me.”

The man’s gaze became piercing, as if daring Peter to understand something his brain scrambled to comprehend. He chuckled, weakly, giving in to cowardice as he looked away. “Even though I turned down your watch, and your car, and your company shares?” he asked, trying for light-hearted even as his throat seemed to quiver.

“Like I said, kid.” Tony reinforced his words with one last squeeze, before letting Peter dig into his meal. “Nothing.”

 

They settled on one of Netflix’s newest releases. It turned out to be an action movie. The plot was simple, and predictable, so they could flitter in and out of conversation. Tony had warned him not to eat “too much,” even as he plied Peter with ginger beef, orange chicken, dumplings, stir-fried vegetables, so much food that he lost track of it all. At least he had an endless teenage appetite to thank, as his stomach was only  _ slightly _ bursting with how full it was when he finally pushed his plate away. He wondered if all the leftovers would even fit in the fridge -- many of the boxes were untouched and unopened. But he concluded that could be  _ later Peter’s _ problem, when Tony’s arm wrapped around his waist and pulled the teen into his side.

Maybe he would leave his hair like this more often, he decided, as Tony’s hand rarely left the mop of curls. As if in support of the decision, Tony murmured, “So beautiful,” as he twisted a curl around his finger before pressing a kiss to Peter’s forehead.

And if Peter absolutely melted into Tony’s side at that, face burning even as he pressed his nose to the ocean-fresh cologne lingering on Tony’s shirt, he should not really be blamed for it. In fact, he was almost lulled to sleep by the time the credits rolled. He could have sworn the beat of his heart matched Tony’s own, steadily thrumming in his ear. That is, until Tony unexpectedly slapped his hands together, immediately sending Peter’s racing.

“So, where’s the bathroom?”

Peter cleared the sleep from his throat as he gestured at the hallway. “Uh, just down there. To the right.”

The man stood, flashing a grin full of pearly whites down at the blinking, bemused boy. “Show me?”

Peter tried to ignore the knots twisting up his insides as he dragged his feet down the hallway, painfully aware of Tony’s leather shoes creaking against the laminate floors. Switching on the light, Peter's lips infinitesimally pursed as the bulb flickered to life, but he thought maybe Tony failed to notice as the man pushed his way through the door frame into the small room.

Peter was about to exit and give Tony some, well,  _ privacy  _ when he noticed the man was simply examining the various items splayed along the counter -- half empty toothpaste, May's face and eye creams, Peter's gel deodorant with the cap popped off. Tony nodded, as if to himself. “Wow. Nice. Very… nice.” He cleared his throat, fingers strumming against the cracking porcelain sink. “I see you have faucets, those are good.”

“Uh.” Peter nodded dumbly, unsure of what else to say. Thankfully Tony interrupted before he could say anything else.

“Now, where's your bedroom?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to let me know your thoughts and/or if there is anything you'd like to see! No promises, but this fic has no grand scheme behind it, so I'm quite malleable when it comes to directions & ideas. Though I do have a plan in mind for the next chapter ... *wink *wink


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an added tag if some readers would like to check it out before reading.

Peter tries to tell himself it’s no big deal as Tony walks into his room. The man’s just looking around, after all. And even if he  _ isn’t _ _ , _  well, Peter prepared for that -- the uncomfortable prickle of razor burn between his ass cheeks served as a constant reminder. But, then again, making a slight modification to one’s body does not really necessitate being ready… does it? Then again, his  _ libido _  was more than ready; if Tony wasn’t coaxing the boy into orgasm with nothing but the timbre of his voice over the phone, then Peter was furiously jacking off to the picture-messages he hoarded from the older man, stored in a secret, password-protected folder.

Consumed in this internal debate as he was, he missed Tony’s soft smile as the man’s fingers tenderly brushed over the half-built  _ Lego _  robot sitting on Peter’s desk, and his low whistle as he admired the scavenged, primitive Macintosh.

It wasn’t until Tony muttered, “Jesus, kid,” that Peter was startled from his thoughts. His head snapped up as he realized Tony had migrated toward the bed, which was currently on the receiving end of a frightfully dubious glare. “You need a bigger bed,” the man said, as he gave the frame a testing rattle.

Well, his assessment was not wrong. Of course, Peter found himself delivering an inappropriately long ramble in response. “Yeah, I mean, I kinda always wanted a bunk bed -- not that, like. Obviously that doesn’t apply here, or anything. But, um, for when Ned sleeps over?” Tony gave no sign of cutting in or relieving Peter of his verbal diarrhea in any way. Peter’s fingers twisted together as he continued, “‘Cause then I have to take the couch. Again, not that -- I’m not gonna take the couch tonight.”

He tried to laugh, but the hoarse sound died in his throat when Tony turned to him, brow raising in surprise. “I mean! I’m not  _ assuming _  anything,” he was quick to amend, waving his hands to swipe the comment away. “I can totally take the couch if you want.”

Tony sank onto the bed. Somehow he managed to make it look even smaller, as he leaned back onto his palms looking far too amused with that teasing uplift to his lips. “You think I came all this way to sleep on a box spring twin all by myself?” he asked as he patted his thigh in invitation. Peter failed to respond, and he motioned once more, with his head, as he spread his legs.

Peter forced his socked feet across the room, heart pounding faster and faster with every step, until he was standing in between the man’s parted legs. It gave Peter the illusion of being in control, to tower over Tony, even if were just a temporary few inches. But he knew, as soon as Tony’s fingers first brushed along the line of his jaw and Peter’s eyes were helplessly fluttering shut, his lips parting as if to let out a gasp -- he knew that he held no real power. He did not tilt his head down so much as let Tony’s fingers guide him, thumb pressed against his chin and fingers curled under his jaw.

Melting into Tony’s grasp, his hands braced against the man’s chest to keep himself upright. His legs weakened at the warmth of Tony’s open lips. Even after all these weeks, he felt like a fumbling youth every time they kissed; his mouth opened too early, his tongue thrust in between Tony’s lips too eagerly. Sometimes Tony would try to guide him, subtly; pull back a little, slow their movements. On a few occasions, Peter’s tongue had even received a gentle nip from Tony’s teeth. But today, he responded in kind -- his hand abandoned Peter’s chin in favour of gripping the back of the boy’s neck, pulling him closer, closer, until Peter willed his already-hardening cock to  _ slow down _ _ ; _  the man’s other hand fisted the back of Peter’s shirt, pressing into the base of his spine until he had no choice but to press his groin against Tony’s stomach.

His toes curled together in his socks, slipping and sliding against each other as he tried desperately to keep his hips from pressing up and thrusting his erection into Tony’s stomach. It was a losing battle, though, as Tony’s lips detached from his in favour of attacking Peter’s neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin with a fervour they had previously vowed to avoid (he didn’t need to walk around with a bunch of hickeys, after all). His thighs were squeezed so painfully tight in an effort to stay still that he thought his whole body must have been shaking, because suddenly Tony’s lips were pulling away -- and not to reattach to Peter’s open, panting mouth, apparently.

“You okay, there, kid?”

“Hmm?” Peter murmured. His eyes struggled to open, sluggish as he was under the heady influence of arousal. Then he caught sight of Tony’s concerned frown, and he snapped to attention. “H-uh?”

The intensity of Tony’s gaze refused to relent as his hands dragged along Peter’s forearms until they rested on his tightly squeezed fists, currently trembling against the man’s chest. “Wanna slow down?”

“No!”

It may have come out too fast, too desperately, but… Peter could not say he was lying. Tony’s pursed lips clearly said the older man was dubious, though he didn’t seem mad. Instead he massaged the backs of Peter’s hands until the teen finally feel his muscles relaxing, enough so that Tony could slip his fingers between the his.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, eyes flickering briefly to Peter’s lips before settling back on the boy’s eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

Peter shook his head.

“See?” he said. “Absolutely no need to rush, sweetheart.”

“But you told Ned you’re my boyfriend!” Peter blurted out. He slapped his hands over his mouth, as if he could succeed in gathering the soundwaves back into his mouth.

Tony released one of Peter’s hand to scratch at his beard. “Is that not what the kids are calling it these days?” he questioned.

“No, yes, of course it is,” Peter said. He chewed his lips, eyes downcast as he added, “But… it kind of implies that we’re exclusive?” When Tony remained silent, he dared to glance up. The man was simply staring at him. “Uh, going steady?”

“Thanks, kid,” Tony muttered with a roll of his eyes. “As if that phrase isn’t well before even  _ my _  time. But what… hm, what are you trying to say?” He smiled, adopting a too-light tone as the hand still holding Peter’s twitched. “Have you been non-exclusive?”

“No, of course not!” Peter breathed, his free hand thumping against the man’s chest. “I just want to make sure, like, that’s what you really want?” Dinner from earlier became a nauseating brick in Peter’s stomach as he stuttered, “With-with me?”

“Kid,” Tony sighed. “That’s what I’ve been trying to get through your thick skull all this time. What, you think I buy a car for everyone and their mother?”

Peter laughed, hopelessly breathless as he felt his lips spread into an uncontrollable grin. “You offered me 10% of your company’s shares before you even met me,” he pointed out.

Tony snorted as he shifted around, procuring a phone out from his back pocket. It was sleek and clear, and almost as thin as paper. Peter frowned as he found the device shoved into his face, too busy admiring the advanced technology, well beyond his means, until --  _ Oh _ _. _  He was staring at the picture he had sent Tony that very first night. Peter looked absolutely  _ ridiculous _ _ ,  _ of course, all frizzy hair and ruddy cheeks with a shitty, grainy camera quality.

“That’s your background,” he realized quietly. The picture was interrupted by multitude of icons dotting the screen.

Tony looked as close to abashed as Peter thought was possible -- he shrugged, quickly pocketing the phone as he glanced away. “‘Course.”

“Woah. You’re, like,  _ really _  serious,” Peter said.

If Tony had been forced to break eye contact before, he made up for it now; his dark gaze narrowed as he focused on Peter’s expression, eyes flickering as if scrutinizing every minute detail. “Does that scare you off, kid?” he asked, a slight edge to his voice

In lieu of a response, Peter surged forward, smashing his lips against Tony’s. He missed, by a few millimetres, overcome with excitement as he was. But the man did not seem to mind, squeezing Peter’s hips almost painfully tight. “No,” Peter said, barely managing to pry himself off long enough to respond. “I think I am, too.”

Peter was under no illusions about his own naivete, and it was not like hearing these words from Tony rid him of all his fears and hesitations. But he had to admit, as he let himself settle into Tony’s lap, and he felt Tony’s arms wrap around his waist, that it felt… different. He was no longer consumed by his thoughts; instead, he let himself become consumed by Tony's touch. The pleasurable jolt that went straight to his stomach when Tony's teeth sank into his bottom lip. The fiery drag of Tony's fingertips, always calloused and rough, so unlike a rich man's. Peter's spine curved in anticipation as those fingers danced along his back, pressing closer and closer toward the line of vertebrae.

He thought he might do anything to feel Tony's tongue slick against his throat once more. But words failed him, and instead he squirmed in anticipation. It was the wrong move -- or perhaps the best one, after all, because he was rewarded with a deep groan as Tony's hands slipped down to squeeze his ass. He could feel the man’s fingers digging into the fabric and it was so easy to press back into them. The thought of Tony's hands there, without any fabric between them, sent a throbbing ache straight to his core.

Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult, with his nose smushed against Tony's cheek and his mouth being swallowed up between the man's lips. He forced his head to the side, breaking their kiss as he gasped for breath.

“Off, off,” he panted as soon as he was able, rucking the man's shirt up to his chest. Thankfully, Tony took over at that point, ripping the material over his head as Peter's tremorous hands explored his chest.

Peter's shirt soon followed suit, but he didn't have time to be shy -- to compare his pale skin with Tony's tanned abs -- because he found himself forced onto his back against the bed, with Tony looming over him.

“Still doing okay?” Tony asked, as if the answer could ever be  _ no _  when it was followed by a tongue flicking against his ear. As the tongue curved along the shell of his ear, Peter was rather proud of himself for even being able to emit a weak, “Yes.”

He fell into a rhythm, rutting his hips against Tony's without even realising it until the man reached down, hand flattening against Peter’s lower abdomen and firmly pressing the teen's hips into the mattress.

“Fuck, kid,” the man groaned. His fingernails dug into the boy's skin. “Can I touch you?”

Peter wished he could that say those words alone, whispered roughly into his ear, didn't make him almost come in his pants. But, well, the gush of precome suddenly soaking his boxers was pretty undeniable.

“Pete?”

“Y-yeah.” The word was a garbled mess coming from his throat. But apparently Tony was fluent in overwhelmingly-aroused-teen, because his palm slid down to cup Peter's hard-on through his jeans.

The groan Peter released was nothing short of guttural, head thrashing to the side as his whole body seemed to ache in time with the throbbing of his heart. Tony's hand began to move, to rub his cock through his pants, and  _ fuck _  it really couldn't get any better than this--

Tony's nose nudged against Peter's slack jaw as he huffed. “I don't want you to come yet, Pete,” he warned.

Peter's eyes squeezed shut, hands balling into fists so tightly that his nails dug into skin as he tried to stave off orgasm. His attempt was aided, torturously, by the removal of Tony's hand.

“Can I take these off?”

The hand had not removed entirely, after all -- Tony's fingers plucked teasingly at the fly on the teen's jeans. Scared of what horrendous sound would come out if he so much as attempted to speak, Peter reached down and pulled at the buttons himself. Tony sat up in favour of watching Peter wriggle out of the material, a feat made much more difficult by his erection. He briefly considered being really brave, by tugging off his boxers as well in one fell swoop. But he chickened out, inevitably, and he sat up to kick off the pants.

The faded blue material of his boxers did nothing to hide the precome soaking through, and he drew his knees in toward his chest. It was possible the man had not seen, though, as he reached over and ruffled a hand through Peter's disastrous mess of hair.

“You still doing okay?” he murmured,

It would not be an exaggeration to say Peter's lip quivered as he begged, “Please touch me.”

It had been so long since he had touched himself; he had obeyed Tony's instructions without question, yet the man seemed oblivious to Peter's struggle now. His cock throbbed with undeniable need and yet, he was waiting on Tony -- for permission, or, or,  _ something _  that said he was okay, maybe even  _ good _  --

A warm hand settled on the back of his thigh as Tony leaned across the teen's body, lips attaching to Peter's shoulder. Peter sighed, head tipping back in silent invitation. The hand slid slowly, slowly up the bare skin of his thigh before pausing at the fabric's edge, boxers pulled taut against his skin. Peter welcomed the touch, though; and so he curved his hip into the air, just enough to force Tony's fingers under the edge of the fabric.

He just -- honestly, he wanted nothing more in that moment than for Tony's fingers inside him. Wasn't even sure he could take this arousal any longer; his cheeks were on fire, his jaw ached from gritting his teeth. His stomach was a horrible jumble of anticipatory knots, and his cock was one brush away from release.

And so. He flung his leg over Tony's shoulder. The back of his knee settled comfortably against the joint, his heel pressed into the man's ribs. And clearly Tony appreciated the bold move, given his muffled  _ “ _ _ Fuck _ ” against Peter's throat as his hand slid over Peter's bare ass.

The moment Tony's finger pressed against Peter's hole -- the man wasted no ceremony, after all -- he could have come.

If not for the way Tony's head jerked up, lips detaching from Peter's roughened up throat with an audible  _ smack _ _. _  “Baby,” he cooed. “Are you always this smooth?”

“N-no,” Peter admitted. He had not thought it possible for his face to flush anymore -- and was currently being proven wrong.

His embarrassment faded, replaced with something more akin to worry as Tony groaned and pressed his face into Peter's knee, still resting on the man's shoulder. He mumbled something the boy could not make out.

“Ah, what?”

“I don't know what I did to deserve you,” Tony said. Peter could not be sure if it was what he had said originally, but it warmed his heart nonetheless. “But fuck, I have you,” Tony continued, pinching the soft skin of Peter's thigh between his teeth. “Can I taste you?

Admittedly, Peter was still sifting through all of what Tony had said even as he nodded in response.  _ Taste me _ _? _

He understood what Tony must mean, of course, and then had to smother an embarrassing smile behind his palm as he realized he was going to be  _ sucked off _  for the first time ever. Tony was such an amazing kisser, Peter could not even fathom what the man's mouth would feel like on his dick. He eagerly wriggled out of his boxers as Tony began to pull them down. So caught up in his giddy thoughts, he barely registered the room doing a 180 as he was flipped onto his stomach.

Tony's thumbs dug into his asscheeks, a warning for which Peter failed to account before they were pried open, and in between slipped Tony's tongue.

And, okay. Peter was naive, but he was not completely  _ clueless _ . He had seen this tons of times in porn, and hadn't really… considered it something  _ real _  people would do, but. Tony's tongue was so slick, and wet, and  _ hot _ _ ,  _ and he was laving against Peter's ass like he intended worship this singular part of the boy with his tongue alone.

Tantalizing as it was, it took a moment of Peter squirming around, half-tempted to pull out of the man's grasp, until he finally adjusted. Allowed his muscles to relax. His legs to spread apart, his back to arch, head dropping between his shoulders.

Tony, so attuned to Peter, seemed to notice the shift; his tongue flexed and pressed, determined now, into Peter's throbbing hole. The teen could not help but clench up; it felt so foreign, and a bit wrong, and could Tony really even enjoy this…?

The tip of his tongue managed to push inside and Tony was instantly moaning, arms wrapping around Peter's thighs and forcing the boy's ass impossibly closer. He pulled away for just a moment -- and Peter was surprised at how  _ empty _  he felt in that moment -- and sounded utterly wrecked at he said, “Sweetheart, you're fucking delicious.”

Peter's arms, shaking almost violently, could no longer support him. His elbows slid across the comforter until he had a face full of fabric to smother his moan. It was much easier, as Tony resumed the onslaught of his tongue with renewed vigour, to will his muscles to relax. And it was well worth it, as Tony's tongue prodded its way further in, each new millimetre celebrated with a moan.

It almost felt as though Peter were losing time; he was aware of his face pressed against the bed, but all he could sense was the hot press of Tony's tongue. The slick saliva coating his ass cheeks, the quiver in his thighs as they begged to give out, even the drool pouring out of his lax mouth -- all of it took a backseat, at least momentarily. And when Tony pressed his thumb into the skin beneath Peter's asshole, the surge of arousal shooting through his body seemed to alight all his nerve-endings at once.

“Fuck!”

It was as if once his mouth opened to say the word, he couldn't stop himself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ _  -  _ Tony, Tony, I-”

“Shh, shh,” Tony cut in. “I got you, sweetie.” One of the man's hands released its vice grip on Peter's thigh, only to reach out and find Peter's own hand, desperately fisting the comforter. “I know what you need okay?”

What he needed, apparently, was Tony's tongue to be joined by the burning stretch of his thumb.

“Oh, oh my-” Peter's voice faltered as his eyes watered. “Oh my  _ God _ _.” _

As it turned out, Tony was not wrong.

Peter came, instantly, without any thought given to waiting for Tony's approval. He came without a single touch to his cock, which jerked helplessly between his stomach and the bed.

Tony was saying something, but it was beyond the realm of Peter's senses in that moment. He was aware only of the abating ache in his groin, and Tony's hand, slick with sweat and squeezing Peter's. He tried to squeeze back, to communicate something, but he forgot how to program his muscles to respond.

His legs gave up, before too long. This time he heard Tony's words --  _ “ _ _ No, don't _ _  -”  _ \-- but he didn’t register their meaning until his belly was already smushed against the come-covered blanket.

“Hmm, s’okay,” he decided.

He was rolled onto his back, at some point, and a scratchy cloth wiped his stomach clean. He was not entirely sure what happened to the spot; he could barely comprehend it as a problem that needed fixing, at this point. All he knew was that finally, at last, Tony was settling into bed alongside him. It was a tight squeeze, even with Peter wedged right up against the wall and Tony wrapping his arms around the teen, pulling him so close as to physically meld together.

But it was comfortable, somehow. Perhaps the most comfortable Peter had ever felt, with Tony's heart (fast, at first, but now slowing) beating against his chest, his fingers brushing through Peter's sweaty curls, breath fanning the boy's burning cheek.

Until, of course, there was a chuckle in his ear and, “Nice  _ Star Wars _  sheets, by the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this makes up for the small last chapter :) Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> [Visit me on tumblr for more of my Starker ficlets, to submit requests, and geek out with me over these dorks.](http://airebellah.tumblr.com)


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